Happy Holidays
by Hyperminimalism
Summary: Vincent returns home after a long stint away on business expecting nothing more than falling right to sleep, but when an unexpected guest shows up, and on Christmas Eve of all days, he finds himself to be rather surprised.


"_And now in weather news; that's right folks, you guessed it--snow! By tomorrow morning we should wake up to something like a winter wonderland. As you can see heading in from the north, we'll be getting the brunt of a rather powerful storm. Most of Kalm and parts of Edge will see at least 2 feet before noon on Christmas day, and that's only in the lower elevations. So prepare yourselves for a--"_

The television clicked off and Vincent tossed the remote onto the couch, making his way back into the bathroom as he finished brushing his teeth; a quick rinse and spit and he crossed the bedroom for a quick peek out the window. Below on the city streets, people scurried down the sidewalk bundled in heavy coats and scarves. The news was right. Even a few random flakes became visible every now and then, but Vincent had no plans to leave any time soon--not after finally returning home from a long stint away on business. No, this was his time to relax.

Vincent closed the window to keep the cold air from seeping in and hustled out of the bedroom into the living room straight for the heating dial on the wall. He settled for the max setting and returned to the couch to wrap himself in a loose afghan that had been draped over the arm rest. It took a moment to feel the hot air after the place had been unused for so long, but it was beginning to feel like a home again--even to him. A sigh escaped him as his aching body settled into the cushions, and Vincent let his head loll back into the couch as he closed his weary eyes. He had been up for nearly 3 days by then, catching only a brief moments where he could rest for no more than a few minutes. And although he didn't require as much sleep as his body once had, there was still some lingering necessity.

By the minute, the gentle heat billowing out of the grate on the wall began to sooth his shivering. _I could fall asleep like this_, he thought; the television hummed softly in the background. At that point it wouldn't have made a difference to him--falling asleep was his only concern and it didn't matter where, just that he could have a chance to do so for more than a measly few minutes. And he thought he could finally embrace what his body begged for, at least until a set of loud knocks sounded from the front door.

Jolted out of near sleep, Vincent flinched slightly at the unexpected and vociferous announcement, but found himself more curious than irritated as to who his visitor could be at such a time and on that particular day. He didn't bother checking through the eye hole and opened the door only to find a wet and shivering Cid Highwind standing in front of him.

"Cid…what are you--?"

"S-sorry, V-v-vince. Ida c-called first, but m-my PHS's-s ruined."

Stepping aside, Vincent let the blond in out of the cold, and went straight to the bathroom to grab a towel.

"What happened to you?"

Stripped of his coat and boots, Cid stood in the doorway so as not to make too much of a mess, running the towel through his sopping wet hair. "I was up north making a delivery and the storm's getting pretty bad out there." One quick swipe over the face and he continued. "They said it'd be best if I didn't try to go through it since I don't have the airship this time."

"You came in the plane?"

"Yeah, well it was just a small delivery. Anyway, I was in town and I remembered you have a place here. Didn't think you'd be home though…"

"I just returned," the dark-haired man replied, taking back the now soiled towel from Cid. "Do you have a place to stay?"

Surprised by such a bold and unexpected question, Cid followed Vincent into the living room where the dark-haired man returned to his seat on the couch to inquire further. "No, I mean it is Christmas Eve n' all…but just so you know I didn't come here to impose on you--"

"--It's fine."

Although somewhat surprised, Cid smiled softly at the rare act of generosity but didn't dare question Vincent's intentions. Instead, he made himself comfortable on the couch next to the gunman.

"You said you just got back? Have you been helping Reeve this entire time?"

"Yes; I've been about for almost 4 months now."

"Damn…it's been a while since you've been home. I'm not really a bother, am I? You just got back and--"

"Really, it's fine, Cid. Besides, there aren't going to be any rooms open today." A moment of silence passed before either of them said anything, but it was Vincent who spoke up before the pilot could, having struck his own curiosity. "A delivery on Christmas Eve?"

"Ah, well…that's kind of a long story." By his lack of a reply, Cid knew he was asking for more of an explanation. "I guess I didn't really have much left at home for me, so I thought I might as well take on a job for the extra cash."

"…Nothing for you? What about Shera?"

Cid shifted uncomfortably in his seat, struggling to find the right words to clarify the situation. He knew, however, that there was no way to get out of this one.

"We…sorta had a fight. She left about a few days ago; went to her parents."

As shocking as the news was, Vincent knew he had little right to pry any further into the situation. Not to mention the fact that Cid was not exactly the most candid person; they simply didn't speak of these things. But today---today it was different.

"And now?"

"Now?" the blond inhaled deeply and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not sure what's happening now--I haven't heard from her since that night." Blue eyes traveled down to the coffee table in front of them, gazing off somewhere farther than what was really there; Cid eventually exhaled and shook his head. "Not lookin' too hopeful either. This isn't a regular occurrence y'know. Shera ain't like that; she's one of the most even tempered people I've ever met, and that was the angriest I've ever seen her."

"I'm sorry…"

"Nah, it's not your fault. Doesn't matter now though, I didn't come here to bring down the mood on Christmas Eve."

Again, and even heavier than before, a silence hung thick in the atmosphere--this time filled with a certain uneasiness. Despite having become rather good friends over the years, enough that Cid felt he could share such sensitive information like that with another human being let alone Vincent Valentine, this time there was no excuse.

"Anyway," Cid continued and pushed himself off of the couch. "You know I can't just intrude on you like this. Is there anything I can do? Have you had dinner yet?"

"Cid…"

Already on his way to the kitchen, and an obvious attempt to change the subject, the pilot carried on. "C'mon, I know you. I'll just whip up somethin' easy." One quick glance in the cupboard had produced a box of spaghetti ready and waiting on the counter. "You got any sauce?" he asked, peeking around the corner.

With a sigh, Vincent returned to his seat having sat up halfway and nodded. "In the fridge," he said, feeling a rumble in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't deny the fact that, along with sleep, food was yet another one of the necessities he had missed out on quite a bit in the last four months. And it surprised him to see how adamant the pilot was about compensating for his kindness, even to the point of serving him when the food was ready.

"Don't be surprised if it tastes like crap," Cid warned as he made himself comfortable on the couch again. "It's been a while since I've cooked anything for anyone."

For a moment, Vincent eyed the food suspiciously. With an admonition like that it was hard not to feel wary about what he would be putting into his body; the ever apparent ache in his stomach, however, was the one thing that managed to convince him to act otherwise.

He took the first bite without hesitance, allowing his senses to scrutinize the initial uncertainty, but it was his expression that illustrated his reaction to the food; somehow unreadable.

"…What?"

Vincent brought his fork down briefly for a moment to revel in the taste before answering. "This is surprisingly good."

"Really? Well I didn't do much, just used what ingredients I had." Cid then dug into his own plate at the okay. "When's the last time you had a home cooked meal?"

Slurping a string of spaghetti, the gunner replied with, "I can't recall." Though he had been lost in the delectable taste of the pilot's cooking, he found himself surprised when Cid began to chuckle softly.

"You've got some sauce…" Cid said, pointing to the corner of his own mouth. Vincent quickly wiped it away with his napkin and they both continued in silence until their plates were clean.

Even so insistent on cleaning up the mess, the pilot returned to the kitchen to tidy up what he had done. It took only a few minutes out of his time, but when he returned to the living room with his mouth open ready to ask another question, he caught himself just in time as he spotted a sight he knew not to many people had seen before.

There on the couch Vincent sat with his head tilting to the left against the cushions having fallen asleep within the short time it took to straighten up. Normally Vincent was a rather light sleeper; a piece of information Cid had gathered from their travels during the first crisis as they had been designated roommates when the time came for rest. But when he draped the afghan over the gunman's body, Vincent never moved an inch.

In the background, the television still hummed softly and caught Cid's attention; a news program played and in the corner, the time read: 11:59 PM.

He turned back to find Vincent still fast asleep. Outside the storm moved its way over the city and he realized his own exhaustion was catching up with him.

"Merry Christmas, Vince," the pilot said softly, taking his seat again on the couch.

Soon his eye lids grew heaviness, and he knew he could no longer fight what was inevitable. It didn't matter at the moment just how uncomfortable they would be when they roused; for now--sleep.


End file.
